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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "Stella Was A Diver and She Was Always Down"

She was never mine. I always shared her.
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
She always was devious in her beauty
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
It was always about words
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
What the hell was she thinking?
She knew what she was doing
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
There was always the blue of you
When she was bad
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
She didn't know what outside was anymore.
She was pain and pleasure all at once, wrapped up in needles and Ramones T-shirts
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
She was too beautiful to be human
Because, perhaps she was cold
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
Dome 27 Was Always the Coldest
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
I stared into the muddled sky with tears running down my face in small rivers, and I knew then that there was no hope
Sex with my accountant was always really, really efficient
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
In the end it was always a stranger's hand
Sex with my sister was always really, really good
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She was free
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
I was tired. It was late. She was Russian.
Besides the part where she was the only one
She didn't write like Emily Dickinson, but she did live in a house overlooking a cemetery, and I guess he thought that was important.
she was waylaid by an octopus
She was feminine in the most displaced sense I had ever seen, a known quality refracted through stained glass windows.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
Last year was always better
Trompe
Sex with the Stewards of Gondor was always very lame
It was always hot here
Where was that stooped and mealy-coloured old man I used to call poppa when the merry-go-round broke down?
It wasn't so much a trip down memory lane as it was me carjacking someone's memorymobile and speeding off down the freeway, but I digress.
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys
She was locked in time
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
Where was that stooped and mealy-colored old man I used to call poppa when the merry-go-round broke down?
Wish I Was in Heaven Sitting Down
This is no joke; I always thought it was a company that made trench coats.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
To a girl who thought she was moving away
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
She probably thought your first language was English; your real first language was Joyce
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
She was steady
she was just the dry smell of gasoline
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
She was the cutest necromancer I ever did see
The girl didn't know if she was loved until he said yes.
She is and was
She was so tall, and I was so in love
He was an ant on an ill-defined mission. She was the trapdoor spider of love.
Outside the train station she was the only person wearing an Orange raincoat and a look of surprise
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She was cilantro, jalepeno, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She Was 18, It Was Summer
She was coming out as he was going in.
I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
she was once a stealthy ghostship in the fog, now she shines wherever she walks
I didn't ask if the glass was half full or half empty. I've always had enough to drink.
With him it was always like
The House on the Island Where She Was Born
(because this was always subconsciously the inspiration, even if I did not know it at the time, and I only realised it just now)
It was not a weather balloon at Roswell
I put my head down and hoped to God she wasn't looking at me
"Oskee wee wee! Oskee wa wa!"
Just how perfect was Jesus?
What would aliens think of us if Everything was all they had?
She hit me like thunder, and I had to lie down until I could breathe again
No shit, there I was
I was discovered by scientists, what will they call me?
If the King's English was good enough for Jesus
It was all God's fault
There was once a Man
The cactus that told me my mom was asleep
Why I like my old car that always breaks down
Harmless social deviancy always gets beaten down
Kilroy was here
A poem I wrote when I was 5
I was expecting it to hurt like a fuck
'T was
Man was created in God's image
That was a joke, son.
And the sky was made of amethysts
What I wrote when I was missing David
I was once stranded on a dessert island
When I was your age
Where were you when Kennedy was shot?
God was created in man's image
Was Jesus resurrected as the Easter Bunny?
Theories as to what was inside the briefcase in Pulp Fiction
I was a young boy that had big plans
the seven hills of Rome
She always confused her greys with white.
She said she loved me. The knife came down.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be
wa
was
It was a dark and stormy night
I was once a victim of Catholic schooling
This was unexpected, my soul's connection to you
How Candide Was Obliged to Leave the Fair Cunegund and the Old Woman
It was you, Atthis
If Dr. Seuss Were a Tech Writer
The day I realized what being alive was
How Candide Was Brought Up in a Magnificent Castle and How He Was Driven Thence
Was not cleanly unmounted, check forced
That time I was almost killed by scary cult children
It wasn't like I was sleeping anyway
middle of summer how crazy it was
You knew I was a rattlesnake when you picked me up
It was not a dream
The world was designed for giant squid
Was (Not Was)
Always Falling Down
Why was Cthulhu blue?
The Walrus was Paul
Descartes was wrong
Sandra will do as Sandra always does, that is, whatever she wants
Why I was convinced I would die young
Here lies one whose name was writ in water
my only pin-up was Pelé
Climbing cherry trees when I was younger
Vancouver, Washington
Able was I, ere I saw Elba

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